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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928421">Atropa belladonna</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiCy/pseuds/DemiCy'>DemiCy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A few other characters mentioned but no interactions, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Poison, This fic is just Hubert silently suffering and in denial thats it, gay pining, no beta we die like Glenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:20:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiCy/pseuds/DemiCy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The symptoms had been incredibly mild at first. A scratch at the back of his throat during council meetings. A dull pain in his chest while he was seated in the dining hall. A heavy weight on his heart as he sipped his morning coffee.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Atropa belladonna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As this is a hanahaki fic, it will contain all of the warnings hanahaki entails: sickness, bad coughing, slight vomiting, and blood</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In truth, he had never felt more disgusted in himself.</p><p> </p><p>He was only human, certainly, and it was to be expected that he would hold certain… <em>attachments</em> in regard to those he found himself spending time with. Edelgard was his first and foremost, the pillar around which his entire being was meant to revolve. To serve the emperor from the shadows was his highest and most honorable duty in life. Honorable as it could be, considering the realities of his work.</p><p> </p><p>But this was a new low, even for him.</p><p>Hubert scowled to himself, feeling the burning sensation rise in his throat. He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth, covering it in anticipation of what was to come.</p><p>His harsh coughs rattled through his tall frame, the hand he held up never quite enough to stifle them entirely. He shuddered; the dry cough followed by a small gag before finally there was some substance to the unpleasant ordeal.</p><p>Hubert slowly pulled his hand away, staring down at the mess he had so disdainfully left on his glove. Speckles of spit. Droplets of blood. And the dark-hued petals of a flower he knew too well by now.</p><p> </p><p>Wonderful, now Hubert was going to have to change his gloves.</p><p> </p><p>He tilted his hand, watching the petals drift out of his palm and onto the dark wood of the table he was sitting at. They were a deep shade of purple, though surprisingly dull. In certain lights, he could even dare say it looked black. Hubert reached across the table, grabbing a small container from his neat collection of jars and vials, and opening it. He carefully brushed the petals inside, letting them join his abundant collection of the dark petals and black berries inside.</p><p>The label across the lid merely said <em>belladonna</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Deadly nightshade.</p><p>The irony that he was coughing up poison was not lost on him.</p><p> </p><p>The symptoms had been incredibly mild at first. A scratch at the back of his throat during council meetings. A dull pain in his chest while he was seated in the dining hall. A heavy weight on his heart as he sipped his morning coffee.</p><p>Hubert had felt a wave of anger roll through him when he had started coughing during one of the war meetings. The intensity of it had earned him a few looks from other members of the table, Dorothea having the gall to ask if he was alright. Once the coughs had subsided, Hubert had to curl his fingers into a fist and feign composure as he lowered his hand to the table once more.</p><p>“Hubert, are you feeling alright?”</p><p>“Never better, Lady Edelgard.”</p><p>Hubert kept a tight grip on those petals throughout the entire meeting. There was no need to risk anyone catching sight of them. Hubert did not need others pestering him over such trivial things, he dealt with that enough already.</p><p> </p><p>Hubert started to carry an extra handkerchief with him, something to politely cover his mouth and capture the poison blossoming inside of him should a coughing fit arise. He had learned the difference in coughs after a week. The harsh scratch in the back of his throat. The growing, nearly burning pain in his chest, leaving a heavy weight on his chest. The vice grip of invisible fingers, tight around the heart many swore he did not possess.</p><p>He had trained himself not to cough so loudly in the presence of others. Taught himself how to subtly grasp the petals and tuck them away.</p><p>Thought Hubert was not fond of the recent addition of blood to the concoction he was coughing up.</p><p> </p><p>Hubert von Vestra exited the confines of his room with a fresh pair of gloves, making his way through the monastery and towards the dining hall.</p><p>He would be damned if a little cough was going to keep him from getting some coffee.</p><p>It was early enough that the grounds were still rather empty, the dining hall still dimmed with only a few cooks milling about, making preparations for the inevitable flow of people that would be rising and filtering through.</p><p>Hubert stepped over to the kitchens, greeted with the sight of his usual supplies set out and waiting for him. He had made an arrangement with the Head Cook early on in their habituation of Garreg Mach – she knew better than to take any further step beyond providing him with water and his coffee tools. Hubert would not touch any coffee that he had not prepared himself. Not that he did not trust the staff – although that was always something to keep in mind, how easily something could be slipped into his meal or drink.</p><p>The truth was just that no one could prepare his coffee to his exact specifications. It saved him the headache of drinking ill prepared coffee if he simply did it himself.</p><p>Hubert retreated with his pot of coffee outside, finding a table near the gazebo to sit and dwell in the quiet of the morning. It was peaceful, the hour or so before the residents of the monastery began to come alive. It allowed him some time to think, mulling over the day’s inevitabilities. The ever-expanding list of tasks to maintain their base of operations, the war effort that was pointing more and more towards their victory, taking precautions to make sure Edelgard was well protected when not in his sights.</p><p>A few hoofbeats and a strikingly loud whinny earned Hubert’s attention, drawing the man out of his own head and towards the stables. It was unusual for there to be a commotion this early with the animals, and while Hubert was not entirely invested in the creatures, he could not deny a flicker of interest.</p><p>He rose from his chair, taking his cup along with him as he rounded the corner to observe who had the nerve to disturb his moment of respite.</p><p>He should have known.</p><p> </p><p>Ferdinand von Aegir was a difficult topic to broach. Hubert had a long-held distaste for the man, considering his farce of a rivalry with Edelgard and his now irrelevant pedigree as the prospective Prime Minister once his glutton of a father retired. That wasn’t all, though. The man’s very personality was enough to leave Hubert feeling exhausted, having to listen to his senseless babbling about nobility and talks of justice and righteousness that he had no perspective on. Ferdinand was what Hubert would reason to call an idealist, if he were forced to speak kindly about him.</p><p>Otherwise, Hubert simply called the man an utter fool.</p><p>Said fool was currently holding the reins of one of the horses in his white gloved hands, leading the animal towards a stall to likely remove the riding gear still strapped to it. The horse, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas.</p><p>Hubert was not fond of the beasts, though he would never claim to outright hate them. Horses were simply something he found too finicky to deal with. Plus, the creatures never seemed to like him.</p><p>It was entirely the opposite for Ferdinand. Animals of all sorts seemed drawn to him, whether it was horses or hounds – Hubert had even caught a bird hopping into Ferdinand’s palm on one occasion where he was feeding them. As though he were some pure-hearted maiden from a fairy tale.</p><p>He certainly had the looks for it. Long locks of silken hair, the same shade as the sun’s morning rays streaking across the dawn sky. Eyes so bright it was unbearable at times to peer into them. Everything about him radiated warmth and sunshine, it was…</p><p>Hubert winced as a hard cough erupted from his throat, nearly dropping his cup as he shielded his mouth. The disturbance was more than enough to earn the attention of one ginger haired man, having finally gotten the mare into her stall.</p><p>“Oh, Hubert!” He called, giving the horse a light pat as he tugged the door closed behind him, making his way over to Hubert’s side as the man struggled to suppress his coughs. They were harsher than the ones before, taking the air right out of his lungs and leaving him hoarse. Hubert turned away from him, hacking into his fresh new gloves and refusing to let Ferdinand witness him like this. At least not his face, the grimace he bore trying to get the invasive blossoms out of his lungs.</p><p>The petals are speckled with blood as he curls his hand into a fist, moving it behind his back when he turns to face the other. Just the sight of the worry, the <em>pity</em> in those honeyed eyes makes Hubert want to retch.</p><p>“What exactly do you want, Ferdinand.” It was an order, not a question. Hubert did not want to stay around and chat, not with his own blood staining his fresh gloves. At this rate he was going to have to request a few extra pairs for the week.</p><p>“I should be the one asking you, von Vestra! It is quite the oddity to see you skulking around the stables.” Ferdinand commented, his smile adding a playful note to the words. “But I am glad to have run into you! I have something I wished to give you.”</p><p>“A gift? What sort of fool do you take me for to accept anything that you have to-“</p><p>“You are under no obligation to accept it.” Ferdinand pulled out a finely wrapped package, presenting it to his prickly companion. “It is a fine herbal blend, and it does wonders to cure even the worst of coughs! Seeing as yours has been making its presence well-known.”</p><p>Hubert stared down at the package; his expression difficult to read in the moment. Hubert had a particular dislike for tea in most capacities. Ferdinand was well aware of this fact, as Hubert had taken the time to inform him on several occasions. And yet here this damned man was, having gone out of his way to get a very particular and expensive looking blend of tea merely for the likes of <em>him</em>.</p><p>Hubert winced as the grasp around his heart tightened, pain flaring up in his chest.</p><p>Not now. Not in front of <em>him</em>.</p><p>Hubert dropped the cup he had been holding, the sound of it colliding with the cobblestone under them rather distant as he frantically grasped for his handkerchief. Ferdinand looked trapped in a moment of shock and worry, but he was quick to correct his expression. For Hubert’s sake.</p><p>The black clad man covered his mouth quickly, harsh coughs making his brain rattle within his own skull. It was disorienting, having to hack so harshly just so he had a chance to breathe. Hubert doubled over, a wet gag escaping him as he spat into the handkerchief.</p><p>Disgusting.</p><p>He lowered the handkerchief a little, but he had acted too soon. He coughed again, shuddering as he spat out more and more of the contents clogging his airway. Not just petals. Whole flowers, still intact and dabbled in the blood that followed. A few tumbled from the handkerchief, fluttering to land at his feet. Soaking up the now cold coffee he had drenched the stones with.</p><p>When the coughs finally spared Hubert a moment to breathe, silence hung heavy in the air between them. Hubert tucked away the soiled handkerchief and lifted his boot, pointedly stepping down to crush the small flower beneath his heel. Ferdinand glanced between the mess upon the ground and Hubert himself, looking torn on how to approach the subject.</p><p>“… I will accept your bribe this one time, von Aegir. But do not expect me to go out of my way for you.” Hubert rasped, calmly holding out a hand to accept the package. The one not stained with his own blood.</p><p>“Hubert, this is most certainly not a bribe! I would never stoop to such unscrupulous tactics, particularly with the likes of you. Why, to even imply such a thing is merely-“</p><p>“Ferdinand. Do cease your senseless banter. I am not in the mood.”</p><p>For one of the few instances in his life, Ferdinand listened to Hubert von Vestra. He went silent, handing over the package without any more fuss to it.</p><p>“If the tea is not enough, I am certain that the infirmary will have something to assist with your illness! Though I will admit even I have never seen another cough out flowers before! Perhaps Linhardt may even-“</p><p>“I haven’t a clue what you mean. This is simply a mild cough, nothing to worry over.” Hubert cut him off, standing up a little straighter. The last thing he wanted was Ferdinand to look at him like that. Full of pity for him. His stomach knotted and his throat clenched at the mere thought of those warm eyes full of worry, solely for his sake.</p><p>Hubert turned on his heel.</p><p>“You should not keep your horse waiting, Ferdinand.”</p><p>He did not wait for a reply, leaving before the other would have the chance to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>It was late in the evening, after Hubert had peeled off his third pair of gloves for the day, that he found the time to sample the dreadful tea.</p><p>It was bitter.</p><p>Not as bitter as he took his coffee, but enough that he could appreciate the taste. The tea soothed his scratched throat, warming him to his core while he sat and went over the schedule for tomorrow.</p><p>The bitterness did wonders to offset the lingering sweetness from the nightshade he always found on his tongue. Tonight, he could be spared a moment of peace, perhaps he could even forget about the flowers slowly poisoning his lungs.</p><p>Tomorrow morning, he would not be so lucky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was written as a short one-shot thing, but maybe someday I'll continue it? Or not. Probably not.<br/>Thank you for reading regardless!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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